Of Prayers and Bullets
by Max Corvin
Summary: AU. Charles Xavier, raised by priests, had always wanted to be one himself. Erik Lensherr was born and bred in battle. Sent on a mission to Uganda, these two seemingly different individuals collide and find the kindred spirits within, ultimately changing each other's lives. Strong friendship/Bromance. No slash.


**Disclaimer: I do not own XMFC, 'cause if I did, the Divorce would never have happened. Yeah, I'm sappy like that. **

**Author's Note: **

**Yo, everyone. This is my first X-Men First Class fanfic. A really stubborn plot bunny came hopping into my head and wouldn't leave unless I feed it, so here we are. **

_Summary: Completely AU. Charles Xavier grew up with priests. Now that he's grown-up, he decides to be one himself, but his superior has a different opinion. Sent to a military base in Uganda, he meets Erik Lensherr, who was practically born and bred on the battlefield. These two seemingly different people will somehow find out that they are, in fact, kindred spirits, and will ultimately change each other's lives._

**P.S. No slash, just strong friendship/bromance. Also, I'm not a hundred percent sure of the info I used. Forgive me if I'm taking a few liberties here :p **

**Chapter One**

Charles panted heavily, skidding along the hallway, almost toppling over the young boy bringing in new sheets. "Sorry," he called out, rounding the corridor, before stopping in front of a well-polished mahogany door. He glanced at the silver watch, heavy on his wrist. _15 minutes late. I hope he wouldn't mind. _

He huffed, smoothed out his single-breasted cassock, hands roaming around, making sure that whatever wrinkle was present would seem at least slightly presentable. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, trying to keep the cowlick from his eyes. He brushed off imaginary dirt, mentally berating himself for having fallen asleep in the library, surrounded by dusty old books! Suddenly feeling the itch on his back and nape, he patted his pants – _no 'kerchief. _He looked around, nearly desperate. He can't sweat off buckets in front of his mentor! Sighing in frustrated defeat, he brought his arm up and wiped his forehead on the sleeves of his robe. Hopefully no one will notice the deep darkened mark. He huffed again.

"I know you've been standing there for the past few minutes, Charles."

A throaty voice permeated the door and Charles gulped. So the wooden door wasn't as thick as everyone thought they were – and all the stuff they gossiped about out here….

"I can practically here you breathing. Get inside."

Charles gulped. He gripped the doorknob, opening the door. He stood stock still as his mentor, Father Nathaniel frowned at him. "You're leaving sweat on the knob."

Charles looked down, flabbergasted at the trails of sweat clinging to the doorknob like slugs. With the handkerchief, Charles tried to wipe the doorknob with his sleeves. The doorknob emitted weird, squeaky noises.

"Charles," Father Nathaniel began.

"I'm so so sorry, Father Nathan, I'm trying to – "

"Sit down, boy."

"Ohh…kay."

Charles sat opposite Father Nathan, trying to calm himself. He did _not _want to hyperventilate and pass out in front of the bishop like the time the Congregation Head visited.

"I, uh," Father Nathan cleared his throat, taking out a piece of paper from his drawer, his thick brows meeting together like one hairy caterpillar –

_Stop it, Charles. One does not make fun of one's mentor, not if one wants to be a priest of the order. _

"You have applied for a, shall we say, _membership_ of this order – "

"I want to be a priest," Charles blurted out, cheeks tinged a strong pink against his pale features, adrenaline rushing. "Just like you. I want to serve – "

Father Nathan held a hand to stop his charge from explaining himself. "I can read, Charles. Everything's written here." He looked at Charles, his dull blue eyes encountering bright sapphire ones. "But," he said, and Charles' breath hitched. "Are you sure this is what you really want?"

Charles couldn't believe the doubt in his mentor's voice. "Of – of course, Father Nathan. This is what I've always wanted."

"Because this is what you have only known."

His mentor stood up, wooden chair skidding softly against the soft carpet. He turned his back on Charles, and for a moment, Charles was afraid that he had failed.

"Twenty-eight years ago and I still remember the day I found you." The bishop looked at his charge, who had a bewildered look on his face. "You have grown up here – surrounded by priests, serving mass almost every day…."

He shook his head, a weary smile on his face. "You have memorized the prayers. You're better than anyone who's come to study priesthood, and you now wear the habit of the order."

Charles wonders where Father Nathan is going with this. He's starting to have goosebumps on his arm. It doesn't help that his cassock is now suddenly very tight and itchy.

"This is what I want," Charles says again, his voice small and brittle. "To be like you."

Father Nathan sighed heavily. "Charles, ever since you were left in my care, I have begun to dream of the day you would follow in my footsteps – raised and surrounded by the order. You grew up brilliant, kind, obedient, but…."

Charles gulped, gripping his fists.

"but I want you to choose this life, _not_ because it is the only thing you have been exposed to, but because it is, whole-heartedly what you want – out of all the vocations there can be."

Charles' head was spinning. He could hardly understand what the bishop was saying. There was suddenly a buzzing in his ears and he felt hot prickly needles piercing his fingers. His mouth tasted funny, like he had eaten some kind of bug. It was only when the chair toppled over that he realized he had fainted.


End file.
